


We Are Stories Still Going

by followingthelightoftheluna



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety over Immigration/Visa status, F/M, Mention of Deportation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27855082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/followingthelightoftheluna/pseuds/followingthelightoftheluna
Summary: What you have with Javier Pena is solid, but unspoken. You know that whatever time you have together is a gift, but you never imagined it could end so soon. Let alone end because of you."Your visa application will not be renewed by the Colombian government … if no other action is taken your visa will expire …  3 months …  if you stay without proper documentation you will be deported back to ..."
Relationships: Javier Peña & Reader, Javier Peña/Reader, Javier Peña/You
Kudos: 22





	We Are Stories Still Going

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This exists because my dear friend took time out of her life to read the first version that I wrote at 3 am, after having spent over 24 hours awake. And then her genius and creative mind gave wonderful feedback, so I humbly dedicate this piece to her. I’ve been so exhausted the last few days stuck with a cold that just will not go away. But tonight I found some energy to write and here it is! This is my first time writing for Javi and I like how it feels. Especially with this trope, I can't get enough of it. I also am not a native Spanish speaker, so any mistakes are my own and I humbly apologize for (potentially) messing up this beautiful language. The title comes from prose by Jamie Tworkowski.

It started out as a good day. That’s how it always begins. An unassuming start, the same routines guiding through the hours. Time to wake up. Time to eat. Time for work. Time for a break. Time for this, that, everything in between. Time. It ushers you through the daylight, knowing to move swift and quick when the sun is high. For the time most cherished is when the sun dips low in the sky, the golds and oranges of the Bogota sunset dimming into something cooler and dark. For it’s in the dark that your lover comes back home to you and it’s in the dark that you finally get to feel his love. For many months now, an unspoken routine has developed between you and your beloved. The daylight hours are your own; his job for the American government keeps him busy, constantly on the move, hunting for a man who wears the devil’s flesh. Your job, your reason for being in Bogotá, occupies most of your time, filling it with enough challenges to keep you occupied throughout the day. But when that time is spent and you begin to head back to your home, the clock starts. The ticking is ever present, a constant reminder of the seconds spent apart. Normally, you cherish this in between, as it is yours. Indulging in a home cooked meal, a glass of wine, the slowness of the early evening allows you to fully open yourself and your heart. So that by the time your lover arrives, you’ve been warmed and awakened and are so fully ready to experience the full breadth of his love. Though those words haven’t been spoken, you find that it’s not necessary when it’s whispered in his touches. Murmured in the way he comes home to you every night, no matter the time. Uttered through the precious moments spent in each other's company. Sighed through the phone calls during the day, talking of nothing but saying everything. Breathed through the looks and glances, both seen and unseen. Words aren’t necessary to confirm what you intrinsically know.

But.

But, sometimes, there’s a voice in the back of your heart that hisses something harsh and ugly. It’s venom drips, slow and thick, into the walls of your heart. Filling it with reminders of your lover’s past, one that may be still desired. Full of women, full of violence, lacking anything that tethers him to a single place. For even with something as solid and true, loving Javier Pena will always come with lingering fears. Fears that you’re not enough. Never mind the women, but enough compared to his _job_. It consumes him, this hunt. Every breath he takes is for the American DEA. Javier has one focus, one goal, one singular task and having someone like you makes it much more difficult to stay focused. Javier has lived for this for so long, you wonder if he’s ever taken the time to imagine the After. You doubt it; that is not time that he has. And the spare time he does he, he offers freely to you. So, you stay quietly grateful, absorbing every moment you spend together knowing that it could be the last.

You just never imagined that the end would come this soon.

_Your visa application will not be renewed by the Colombian government … if no other action is taken your visa will expire … 3 months … if you stay without proper documentation you will be deported back to ..._

He knew you were here on a visa. The distant possibility of it not being renewed was never talked about, just another set of words to be left floating in the air until it becomes the only air left to breathe.

You knew that he was a good man, that he _is_ a good man. One full of pain and complications, yes, but a man nonetheless who believes he’s doing something right and _good_. But there was always an end, it’s just that neither of you were sure who would be the one to bring it about. Would it be him, choosing the job? Or would it be his job, a stray bullet or sharp knife to the throat draining life from it’s newest sacrifice? Or would it be you, forced to return to your native country? Or, more distressingly, return to your home on your own volition? Out of all of the possibilities, you truly never expected it to be you.

Eyes tightly squeeze shut, desperately hoping it’s all a dream, but the words cannot be unread. They’re stained on the back of your eyelids, their nonchalant polite formality making you want to scream.

Trying to rationalize it, you think this might be a good thing. You two aren’t a couple, at least not out loud. He’s Javier, your Javi. But he’s not _yours_ in that way. He belongs to the DEA. However, you know he has a reputation, one that he may be eager to return to. A life of many women and full devotion to a job that only takes and rarely ever gives. A job that will certainly kill him. A job that the signature on the HR paperwork wasn’t only an acceptance but a death certificate.

Twelve chimes ringing out through your apartment startle you out of the fog you’ve gotten lost in. It’s funny, how the day seems to drag, but the time you spend waiting for him flies. The restlessness that comes at this hour settles deep in your stomach, but joining it is the sick weight of dread stemming from both the letter and the future act of talking about it.

Your routine is unspoken and his arrival is all but certain, but this time you hope he doesn’t show. For your man is one who’s learned to sense when he’s being lied to or deceived, a tried and true sixth sense. But not only that, Javier knows you. It would be futile to try and hide something from him. He knows you well enough to sense when something is wrong.

Time passes, the metronomic ticking your reluctant companion. Time passes and you wait, pacing around and hoping your racing mind will find some answer, some clarity. What feels like an eternity later, but in reality must have only been ten minutes or so, there’s a soft knock at the door. Though Javi knows you’re most likely waiting up, he never assumes. That would be too serious of a commitment, too much of a sign of your devotion that he’s not sure he deserves or has. So a gentle knock thuds on your cheap door, not loud enough to rustle you out of sleep, but loud enough for an anxious lover waiting for their other to come home. The knock shakes you out of the stupor and you hurry towards the door, the excitement and eagerness at getting to see him momentarily overriding the abounding anxiety plaguing you.

Breathlessly, you open the door wide, beckoning him in. He’s tired. Shoulders slumped, almost asleep at your threshold. Upon seeing you, his eyes light up just enough, a flickering flame hinting at the full breadth of passion that lurks beneath those tired eyes.

“Hey, stranger”, you whisper softly, “long day?”

“You have no idea, querida.”

You step back, angling your body in so he can fit in the space left behind. And he does, so perfectly, stepping into your apartment with a heaviness so familiar, yet unwelcome as always. Javi makes his way towards the couch and huffs down with a soft groan. Leaning back, he runs his left hand over his face while propping his right arm over the couch, a clear invitation for you to join him. An invitation you eagerly accept. The moment your body leans into his, his arm comes down and wraps you even closer into him. You can feel his exhaustion; even his heartbeats seem to be sighing, the weight of the job pressing harder with each day. You trail gentle kisses on his covered chest, making your way to his strong neck. Tenderness pressed to his sharp jawline, a whisper of quiet reassurances into his ear. These are moments that you feel you’re worthy of Javi, can be there for him in a way he can’t admit out loud what he needs. But the body knows. A few moments of peace pass, the silence settling into something thick, with a softness threaded with melancholy. There’s no cure for his pain, only slight moments of reprieve You breathe together, molding into his warmth. He presses a single soft kiss into your hairline, holding you close and hoping that it’ll be enough to keep the darkness at bay.

Knowing that you’re waiting for him to talk first, he melds into the silence something easy and slow.

“How was your day, hermosa?” His voice is gravely and rough, and you find this most pleasing. It feels more intimate, these hushed conversations. You’re grateful for his offering. It didn’t take as long as last time. You wait until he’s ready, until he feels like some of the grime from the day is washed away in your embrace. Sometimes he speaks almost immediately. Other times he doesn’t speak at all. You give him precious space and even more precious; control. Respect for his boundaries is something Javi doesn’t normally have given to him, not in his line of work. Just another reason for his devotion to you.

“Today was … it was good. My cousin called, which was nice. We talked for a few hours. She’s thinking of going back to school. For nursing.”

Javi hums in acknowledgment, stroking your hair absentmindedly as he listens.

“I made that dish Señora Laros recommended. She gave me her recipe. It was her grandmother’s. Actually turned out pretty well, not as good as hers of course. There’s some leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry?” Tilting your head to look at his face, you see him shake his head, the soft murmur of gratitude exhaled into your temple. You pause, wanting to continue but the last of your reserves are gone.

Taking a breath, you continue.

“I got a letter today in the mail. From the Embassy. My visa expires in three months.”

“I thought your job was extending it?”

“They were supposed to, but the project I’m a part of is ending early. So it turns out they don’t need me for much longer.”

No longer muted by your brain due to the arrival of your lover, the awful ticking returns to the forefront of your senses as the silence settles around you both. Mocking you, taunting you with the passing of precious seconds you have left in this country, in this apartment, with this man.

Javi’s hand continues to stroke your hair, but you feel his breathing change. Just as you open your mouth to continue, Javi makes it there first.

“So what does this mean? What happens now?”

“I have three months to figure something out. Otherwise,” a deep inhale almost to force the words out, “I have to leave Colombia.”

At this, his hand stills. He adjusts to sit up and gently pulls you up to face him. His brown eyes are piercing yours, possessing a sharpness that’s tinged with incredulity. 

“Leave?”

“My country’s embassy isn’t as powerful as yours, Javi. My government won’t give me any more time. I’ve already called and all but threatened to send you down there so they can face the American DEA’s wrath,” you murmur with a soft smile, “but it’s no use. With my job not extending my contract, they said I have no legal reason for an extension.”

“Three months. Three more months and you’ll be gone. Just like that?”

“Just like that.” The finality is whispered from your lips, but it settles on him like a blow to the chest.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you and didn’t want to do it this way. I know how stressed you are already, I didn’t want to be a reason for it. This … this isn’t what I want, Javi. I don’t want to go. But I don’t know what else to do.”

Both of Javi’s arms reach out, pulling you desperately closer into his chest. You tuck your head into his shoulder, breathing in deeply. His scent instantly calms you, but your traitorous heart takes that moment to remind you that you won’t have these moments much longer. You’re already living with borrowed time, and as the clock keeps its infernal ticking going it dawns on you that this may be the moment where it all ends. Javier isn’t bound to you. He isn’t even yours really. It’s been unspoken, yes, but when it’s uttered and exists as an exhalation it turns into something real. You tense, fighting back a shudder that threatens to ripple through your body. He can’t know. If he is going to say goodbye, which he has every right to, then he can’t know how it’s going to destroy you. Let him go in peace, without guilt. He has enough of it already.

You know he’s thinking, processing the news in his own way. So you snuggle deeper into him, committing his warmth, his scent, and his embrace to memory. Though it’s never been said in words, you’ve never been loved like this before. And it’s a feeling, a state of being, that you don’t want to ever forget. You leave a kiss right above his heart, the warmth of your lips caressing his shirt, but begging for the golden skin that lies beneath. The simple act seems to break Javi out of his reverie and if you thought your whispered words shocked the silence, then what he says next drops like a bomb.

“Marry me.”

Two words. Two tiny words. Lungs breathe in deep, push the air out, and his vocal cords hum out those two little words. In a twist of cruel fate, time does seem to stop. The world freezes, as do you, unsure if what was uttered was done by mistake. You wait. And when he doesn’t immediately reclaim his declaration, you turn your head up to find his warm gaze on you. Your eyes meet his brown ones, now molten in the moonlight. Javi glows and for some reason, that seems to break your heart even more. He’s so beautiful, this man.

Tilting your chin up to be level with his face, he presses his forehead to yours. Your breath mingles, the warmth bleeding into you.

“ _Javi_ …”

“Marry me,” he repeats, this time at a whisper.

“You don’t have to do this… ”

“Marry me, querida. Marry me and stay.”

He’s serious. Though he’s a man who rarely dips into the sarcastic, this comes with no trace of humor. He’s serious. And that scares you most of all.

Too much time must have passed. He mistakes your silence as hesitance, as possible rejection. Not of the idea to stay, but of him. As a partner. As being your husband. As being the one to do this for you.

“I know this isn’t … we haven’t said it. And you probably don’t want a man like me as your husband, I know.” He sighs, something deep and ancient. “I know I’m not a good man, but I … I can’t have you leave. You can’t go, I wouldn’t … please, baby. If you don’t want to marry me, I understand, maybe we can-”

“Javi. Stop.” You press your fingers to his lips, delicately tracing the pads over the warm plushness. He’s foolish, your man, for not being able to see himself in the full light of day. Your heart catches up and starts to sigh. He’s not saying goodbye, he’s asking you to stay in the most permanent of ways. Stay in Colombia, stay in Bogotá, stay in his arms. It’s all the same. You thought Colombia was home, but maybe it’s really in the arms of the man you love all along.

“Javi,” you breathe, “love, I’m not saying no. I’m making sure you know what you’re asking. This is ... Christ, baby, this is marriage. To me. For a long time. And I,” you pause searching for the right words, the needed words.

“I know we haven’t said it, Javi. We haven’t needed to. I know. Darling, I know. And I know you know too, otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked.” He huffs out soft laughter, hands caressing your jaw, still holding your face up to his.

“I want this, mi corazon. I want you to stay. I need you to stay. And I know this is sudden, but you’re it. You’re it for me and I don’t want to lose you. All it can be is just a piece of paper. We can stay the same, do what we’re doing. And when we’re ready, we can grow into it.”

At his words, a smile with all of the brightness and warmth of the rising dawn spreads across your face.

“You want to marry me.”

“We’ll go to my embassy, fill out the paperwork. Once we’re married, you can apply to become a dual American citizen. But until then,” he places a kiss on one cheek, “once you’re my wife, you can stay. I work for the U.S. Government and as my wife,” he places a kiss on the other cheek, “you get to stay.”

His lips twist into a playful smirk, eyes crinkling from the smile. “And if you end up hating me, we can always get a divorce.” A quick and light burst of laughter tumbles from your lips at the ridiculous impossibility of his words. Sitting up on your knees, you face him directly, taking his hands and kissing his knuckles. Your heart is sparkling from the rapid stream of revelations and confessions from the past few minutes. At this moment you are so full of love, you could burst from it. Wanting to show your devotion, you look him deep into his eyes, all hints of laughter gone.

“Javier Pena, I would be honored to be your wife. You are a good man. And I feel so completely and irrevocably loved by you, even without words. Because you gave your love to me freely, in so many ways. There’s no way I couldn’t have known. I love you, Javi. I want to stay. Not just because of Colombia, but because of you. Our love isn’t perfect, but it’s ours. And I want to feel it, however much you’ll give me, today, tomorrow, and every day after that. Yes. I’ll marry you.”

And so the two of you surge together, pulled together by your own gravity, and crash lips desperately together. His kisses consume you as if he can’t believe you’re real, that this is _happening_. He came to your door beleaguered, but he’ll leave a man renewed. It’s desperate, this union. Clothes are shed, touches exchanges, words of love whispered in between moans. Both of you know the next few days are going to be filled with mountains of paperwork and thousands of questions, but for now, there’s only the two of you. You’re safe and settled in his arms, bound by his touch, each kiss a marking. In his arms, you found a home. A place to stay. Now with this, you have all the time in the world. And you’ll cherish every single second of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm miss-me-jack on Tumblr, so come say hi! Here's the link for the Title inspiration: https://twloha.com/blog/we-are-stories-still-going/


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